Sherlock Holmes and the Indecent Accusation
by TanGrrYnes
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson are dearest friends, previous flatmates, and are everyone's favorite crime-solving duo, until they are accused of indecent acts. Can Holmes and Watson provide enough evidence to clear their besmirched names in the ever-suspicious eyes of Victorian England?


It was a fortnight after the dawn of the New Year when I returned one evening to my old residence, 221B Baker Street, wanting to wish my dearest friend Sherlock Holmes the compliments of the season. Upon entering the familiar sitting room I took my place in the armchair by the fireside and warmed my feet.  
"How very good it is to see you, Watson," Sherlock Holmes said through teeth that clenched his favorite clay tobacco pipe.  
"And you," said I. "Are you well?"  
Sherlock Holmes smiled, a familiar twinkle in his eye.  
"I am very well, good Doctor. See this pair of spectacles?"  
"Yes."  
"Tell me what you can deduce from them," Sherlock Holmes offered.  
I had perceived as much upon entering that Holmes was in the middle of solving a case, for there were newspapers crumpled about the floor and a few tinkering objects I knew Holmes to use when conducting examinations.  
I obliged to entertain my friend and took the spectacles in hand. The lenses were small and circular. Rather thick. The frame was thin and silver in color. The left arm was slightly bent outwards.  
"They appear to belong to a man. Probably elderly, because the lenses are so thick."  
"Yes, very good," Holmes said, puffing at his pipe. "What else can you determine?"  
I looked again at the spectacles.  
"They must be old, for they look rather used. The owner must have needed them for more than reading. But that is all I can tell."  
"A very good start, Watson!" Sherlock commended me. "Now, let me tell you all the facts of importance to the case. These spectacles, as you said, belong to an elderly man. It's quite an old model, too. Manufactured sometime in the '70s. The owner is left-handed, as you can see because he always takes off the spectacles with his left hand, resulting in the bent left arm. There are several small scratches upon the lenses and the outside of the frame, but the inside of the frame is unharmed. This tells me that something minutely small and hard struck him several times in the face over time, wood slivers or metal, likely the first because metalworking is a young man's job. This man is a carpenter. See here, the smallest splinter of wood stuck in the screw? Now, we can further deduce that he is poor, given that the spectacles are rather antiquated, so he must have never gotten a new pair. Now, we are looking for an elderly, impoverished, left-handed carpenter."  
"Astounding," I said. "Do you know of any such man?"  
Holmes passed me an advertisement from the paper upon which I read a £2 reward for a pair of silver, crooked spectacles, dropped likely around four in the afternoon on Tuesday.  
"Well done," I told him. "Though a trifle mundane for you, isn't it?"  
Holmes smiled. "Not all mysteries are murderous," said he.  
It had been quite some time since I had seen my old flatmate, and I found my ears were starved to hear his account of one of his last crime-solving excursions in which he was presented a dead body with no apparent wounds nor proof of poisoning. It was quite a tale, and I had wished sorely that I had brought my dictation journal with me so as to record his every fascinating word.  
I had felt the fancy of a pipe myself, and was halfway through my smoke and Holmes was at the end of his tale when he stopped suddenly, his flailing arms now suspended in the air.  
"Well, Inspector!" he cried. "Don't hang about the door. Do come in!"  
Holmes opened the door to Detective Inspector Lestrade, who shuffled inside.  
"Apologies," said he. "I was yet about to knock when you called to me."  
"Yes. Pray, what brings you to stall so long in my corridor?"  
Detective Inspector Lestrade looked rather embarrassed, and wrung his hat in his hands nervously.  
"Oh, Doctor Watson!" he exclaimed, only just now noticing me by the fire.  
"Good evening, Inspector," I said.  
"Do speak," Holmes urged. He was rather annoyed now, having been interrupted in his tale.  
"Yes, well..." Lestrade coughed, summoning his nerves. "Damnit, Holmes. I am a man of the law and I will do as commanded."  
"By all means," Holmes offered with a sweeping gesture of his hand long, thin arm.  
"I am here to arrest you, Mr. Holmes."  
"That's absurd!" I protested, rising from my chair.  
"It's just as well that you're here," Lestrade told me, "for I am also to arrest you, Dr. John Watson."  
"Absurdity!" I cried, thundering my fist upon the arm of the chair. "And on what charges are we under arrest?"  
Detective Inspector Lestrade shook his head regretfully.  
"Upon the suspicion of indecency."  
"Just myself or Watson, too?" Holmes asked calmly.  
"The both of you," said Lestrade, working handcuffs on Holmes' compliant wrists.  
"Dr. Watson, if you please," Lestrade begged of me, extending another pair of cuffs meant for myself.  
"What does that mean? Indecency?" I asked. "I demand to know the specific charges. It is my right!"  
"Watson, please don't shout. Your voice carries rather far," Sherlock warned me. He stood patiently by Lestrade, hands clasped together in front of him.  
"What specifically am I charged with?" I asked again.  
"...You and Mr. Holmes both," Lestrade finally admitted, "are under arrest on suspicion of sexual indecency...that is, a mutual perversion...in which you and Mr. Holmes are..."  
"Absolutely outrageous!" I boomed as understanding dawned upon me. "Positively, categorically nonsense!"  
Lestrade cuffed me with some great struggle and forced me into the police-carriage, with Sherlock quickly but calmly behind.


End file.
